


Confessions Redux

by castronomicalmistakes



Series: Confessions [2]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Angst, Banter, Getting Together, M/M, Pining, Post-Canon, Truth Serum, the banter seriously took on a life of its own
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-22
Updated: 2021-03-22
Packaged: 2021-03-27 15:41:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30125070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/castronomicalmistakes/pseuds/castronomicalmistakes
Summary: John is gassed with an Ascension related truth serum, and is forced to tell everyone he makes eye contact with exactly how he feels about them.
Relationships: Rodney McKay/John Sheppard
Series: Confessions [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2217030
Comments: 14
Kudos: 46





	Confessions Redux

**Author's Note:**

> This is what would happen if John was the one gassed with the truth serum instead of Rodney in the previous fic, Confessions.
> 
>   
> Special thanks to LogicGunn for being a delightful beta!!

John stood in one of the southwest towers looking out the window at the sunlight of New Lantea glinting off the sea. They’d been back in Pegasus for over a year now and the team had spent most of that time making alliances and searching derelict outposts for more ZPMs, but about a month ago Woolsey had decided it was time to give the city a full and thorough going over, even recruiting more troops from the IOA to do it. Since then, John had found himself busier than usual. Ronon and Teyla were in the next room over with a couple of engineers, but they’d brought Zelenka today instead of Rodney, who had bitched and moaned all through breakfast about having to fix an “atrociously irresponsible error” one of his new minions had made when adjusting the code for the sewage system, and was now holed up in his lab doing "a thorough examination of all current projects to protect us all from blatant idiocy." John pitied whatever scientist had cost Rodney a day exploring the city. It was something they could do with minimal risk, and the team had found they really enjoyed days like this together. Bonding without the threat of being shot at or having the life sucked out of you was actually kinda nice. Go figure.

“Seems to be some kind of medical bay,” Zelenka muttered, his words dissolving into Czech as he scrolled down on the tablet. 

“Something for Carson?” John asked.

“If this is like last one, then- aha!” Zelenka preened triumphantly as the doors behind him opened. The first led to a hallway that looked exactly like the infirmary in one of the eastern towers, and the other door opened up to a similar OR. 

Nothing exciting, then. Sheppard flopped himself down into one of the big cushy chairs lining the circular room and was about to radio Carson when a little tube popped out of the headrest and sprayed something purple right in his face.

“Fuck!” John shouted, jumping to his feet. He rubbed his eyes and coughed, putting space between himself and the offending chair.

“Are you alright, Colonel?” Zelenka called from across the room. 

John did a quick check. He appeared to still have all his senses. Nothing hurt. His eyes weren’t watering, he wasn’t nauseous or dizzy. His fingers weren't purple, which meant his face probably wasn't either. He felt… fine.

“I’m good, I think,” he replied cautiously.

“Sheppard?” he heard Ronon call, his voice tight and cautious as the big man stalked into the room with Teyla right behind him, their weapons drawn. 

As John headed toward them, his eyes met Ronon’s. 

“Ronon Dex,” John found himself saying, “You are an irreplaceable part of my team. You’ve saved my bacon more times than I can count, and I know you’ve always got my back. Your cleverness and adaptability kept you alive as a runner, and you never those bastards kill your spirit. It really meant a lot to me that you came to my dad’s funeral. Hell, you’re as much my family as my actual brother, and I love you.” He felt his cheeks flush with embarrassment even as his heart seemed to soar, filled with the love he felt for his friend.

They all stood in stunned silence for a second, and then Ronon growled, “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Ronon, that is no way to respond to the Colonel’s heartfelt words," Teyla scolded, though she eyed John warily. Neither of them had dropped their weapons.

“No, seriously, what the fuck is wrong with me?!” John asked, tearing his eyes from Ronon’s to Teyla’s. Then it happened again.

“Teyla Emmagan,” he said, the words flowing unbidden, “You are, without a doubt, the strongest person I have ever met. You’re an incredible leader to your people, a damn great mother to Torren, and it is an honor to fight at your side. Thank you for trusting me and for becoming part of my team. I love you, and I’m grateful for you every day.” 

John snapped his mouth shut, horrified, even as all the love he had for Teyla filled him from the inside out. 

“Jesus _Christ!_ ” he hissed in mortification. His ears were burning and he wanted nothing more than to sink into the floor. He wanted the floor to open up and drop him all the way down the tower into the ocean, where whatever sea life New Lantea held could swallow him up and _eat him_. 

“Beckett, we’re bringing Sheppard to you,” Ronon said into his radio. “Something’s wrong with him.” 

“All I did was sit down!” John groaned. But he dutifully handed Teyla his guns, knowing that until they cleared him, he was a potential threat. It wouldn't be the first time he'd shot one of his friends.

“Pack it up, Doc,” Ronon barked at the scientist, but Zelenka had already unplugged the tablet and was walking toward them.

John made a shield with his hands over his eyes and looked down at his shoes. He was _not_ interested in confessing any kind of affection for Zelenka, or anyone else, for that matter. 

"What, Colonel, you do not love me too?" Radek teased.

They’d better be able to figure this out, and fast. John was starting to suspect he’d been dosed with the Lantean version of a barbiturate, and there were a few people on this base he’d really, _really_ rather not speak plainly to. Namely, one annoyingly smart, gorgeous scientist: Rodney McKay. A man who had previously teased him several times regarding his “stoic manliness” or some other snipe at Sheppard’s tendency to remain tight-lipped, but John had spent years learning how to school his emotions and his face. It wasn’t for nothing that he’d gone his entire military career without anyone realizing he was bisexual and tended to prefer men. His mask was his armor, and the thought of going without it was terrifying. What if he said something to someone that wasn’t quite as nice as what he’d said to Teyla and Ronon? He thanked his lucky stars that piece of shit Kavanaugh was long gone.

He was going to have to do everything in his power to avoid Rodney. If he caught Rodney’s eyes and opened his mouth, it was over. He’d admit, out loud, for the first time, that he was totally gone on the scientist. John was no u-turns, no refunds, death and taxes, stupidly and completely in love with Rodney McKay. And he’d been studiously ignoring it for years. Rodney was a big boobed blondes kinda guy, and John was the exact opposite of that. And while he couldn’t keep himself from flirting with Rodney sometimes, the other man was generally oblivious to it, absorbing his words as sarcasm or friendly banter, and John had never corrected him. Because he was a coward. He told himself it was easier to let things remain the way they were; Rodney was his best friend, and he didn't want to screw that up. John had learned to content himself with the idea that friends was all they could ever be. He didn't need to _hear_ Rodney turn him down, thank you very much.

Minutes later, Ronon and Teyla were ushering him into the infirmary where he found himself staring down at the shoes of one Carson Beckett (or the clone thereof, and didn’t John wallow in the guilt of _that_ every time he remembered.)

“What’ve we got here, hmm?” Beckett asked. 

“Something in a new med bay sprayed me in the face,” John admitted.

Teyla’s head whipped toward him. “Why did you not mention this before?” 

“Because I’m _fine_ ,” John insisted.

“Decontamination, Colonel,” Beckett said, pointing to the shower. “And if you were near him directly after, you two as well,” he commanded, gesturing at Ronon and Teyla. John cringed as he pictured the look Ronon was shooting him right now; Ronon _hated_ decontamination protocols.

Once they’d all stripped, been hosed down with freezing cold water, and given scrubs to wear, John was led to an examination room and Ronon and Teyla were free to go. Before she could get too far, John snagged Teyla’s arm.

“Yes, John?” she asked tentatively.

He looked her in the eyes warily, but no more words were forced out. He was relieved to find it didn’t happen again, and he opened his mouth to beg her to keep Rodney busy for the night, to make sure that Carson could fix him before the scientist got wind of John being in the infirmary. But then he realized that would give him away just as fast as yelling “ _I’m madly in love with Rodney McKay,_ ” from the top of the control room, so he just let go and waved her away. 

“Do not hesitate to ask if you need anything,” she told him. John nodded and covered his eyes again. 

From the doorway, Ronon called back. “Oh, and Sheppard?” He pointed in John’s direction. “Love you too, man.” 

“As do I,” Teyla added with a small bow of her head.

“Thanks guys,” John replied a little sourly as they left. It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate the reciprocation. It was just that, if someone had taken the time to reach into his mind and pull out his worst fears, being forced to tell everyone exactly what he thought about them was definitely on that list. It wasn't as if John was one to skimp on praise or constructive criticism. He had no qualms swapping stories with Marines or making jokes in the lunch line with the scientists. But John had spent his life forced to avoid social landmines, and it had become second nature to carefully observe and respond to every situation as if it were a tactical one, seeing what he could use to his advantage and making sure the other party only learned exactly as much as he was willing to dole out. So this? This opening up his heart and being left vulnerable and flayed open sort of shit? He'd rather be getting his ass kicked and bleeding profusely.

When John heard someone enter the room, he sat up with his eyes closed. His whole body was tense, poised for action, despite that there was almost nothing he could do right now.

“Colonel,” he heard Carson say in his calm brogue, “Ronon and Teyla informed me of your, ehm, declarations of affection. I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I’ll have to look in your eyes for the exam.” 

He’d thought about this, but not how to avoid it. “Beckett,” John said, trying to sound reasonable instead of whiny, “Whatever that stuff did, it’s triggered by eye contact. How do we know it won’t get worse if it keeps happening?” 

“And how will we know how to stop it if you won’t let me examine you?” 

John scrunched his face in a scowl. “Isn’t there a machine that can look in my eyes or something? Like they have at the eye doctor.” As an Air Force pilot, John was very familiar with the inside of an optometrist’s office.

Beckett sighed. “Come now, Colonel, I’m certain it won’t be as bad as you think.”

John’s fists were balled up in his lap, and his lack of control in this situation made him really want to punch something. Could he do it one more time? If it meant Carson could fix this and make it stop? If it meant he didn't have to face Rodney… 

“Crap,” he muttered, and then opened his eyes. Carson’s baby blues weren’t hard to find, and immediately his mouth opened and the words spilled out. 

“You’re not Carson Beckett,” he said, and flinched as he heard himself say it. “He died trying to save someone. And because of that, I know you would too. You’re an honorable man, and I think it was damn brave of you to come back to Atlantis and become part of the team again. I’m glad you’re here, and even if you aren’t my friend who died, you’re my friend now. You’re important to me, Carson.”

“Aye, I’ve got a great deal of affection for you as well, laddie,” Beckett said with a slightly strained smile, patting him lightly on the shoulder. “And see, that wasn’t so bad.” 

But John wasn’t so sure. Carson seemed a little subdued as they went through a battery of tests. John figured if he was _his_ dead self’s clone, he wouldn’t like being reminded of it either, but he couldn’t even kick himself for saying something stupid. Beckett hadn’t given him a choice. John found he was mad at himself anyway.

In the end, they learned that there was a small part of his brain that was very active due to the mixture of chemicals, but nothing else seemed amiss.

“I’m sorry Colonel, but I’m afraid that, unless your condition changes, we’re going to have to wait this one out and see if your body processes it naturally.” 

John groaned and dropped his head into his hands. “How long do you think it will take?” 

Carson gave him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. “I can’t say for sure, but based on the current rate, at least ten days. Why don’t you go to your room and get some rest and fluids, try to help it along?” 

“Sure,” John said a little morosely. “Thanks, Doc.” 

With a nod, Beckett turned and left John sitting alone beside the pile of his clothes, which had been washed and dried as a precaution. He ditched the scrubs and pulled on his briefs and pants before taking the black shirt he’d worn that morning and cutting a wide strip off the bottom with a pair of medical scissors he fished out of a drawer. He tied it around his eyes. Plenty of people were blind and got around just fine. If it meant he didn’t have to declare his feelings about anyone, he figured he could manage to do it too.

He put the shirt back on, feeling a little odd about his bare midriff, and warily passed through the infirmary, guided gently by Doctor Biro. He laid out the quickest path back to his quarters in his mind. A few steps to the transporter, a few steps to his room, and he’d be home free. 

It turned out John was not a good judge of distance without his eyesight. He bumped into walls, light fixtures, consoles, and doorways, accruing several bruises and a split lip for his trouble. But he’d be damned before he’d call someone on the radio to help him, and he let out a huge sigh of relief when he heard the door to his room slide shut.

He yanked off the blindfold and headed straight for the bathroom when Rodney’s voice reached his ears. 

“Where the hell have you been?” 

John’s body unconsciously betrayed him, and he whirled around to find Rodney sitting on his couch with an open bag of potato chips from John’s private stash. Fuck. Before he could stop himself, their eyes met and he could feel his jaw opening to spew all the things he didn’t want to say. 

“Rodney, I-” and John moved faster than he had _in his entire life_ as he hurled himself into the bathroom, covering his mouth with his hand and immediately flushing the toilet, hoping the noise would drown out his words.

“Sheppard?” Rodney’s panicked voice came from the other side of the door. “What’s going on? Are you ill?”

When the words stopped flowing out of his mouth, John sighed in relief and pulled his hand away. He could still hear Rodney panicking on the other side of the door.

“McKay to Beck-” 

“NO!” John shouted through the door panel. “Don’t call Beckett, I’m not sick. I’m fine.” 

He pictured the look on Rodney’s face in his mind as he replied, “Right, because coming into your own room blindfolded and then throwing yourself into the bathroom is _perfectly normal behavior_.”

“Damn it, McKay, there’s nothing wrong with me,” John lied. 

“Did you get punched in the face? Don’t think I didn’t notice that split lip.” 

John groaned. Very little got past his genius best friend. “I didn’t get in a fight, and I’m not sick," he said with more calm in his voice than he would have believed possible. "I just need a little time alone, that’s all.” 

"John Patrick Sheppard, I am _not_ going to let your 'I'm fine' bullshit get in the way of your health-" 

John interrupted him by opening the door with his eyes firmly closed and a terse, _“Rodney.”_ He crossed his arms. "I just can't look at anyone for a few days, that's all."

"Hmph," Rodney huffed. "You look... ridiculous." 

There was something odd in Rodney’s tone, but John didn’t have time to absorb or analyze it because Rodney's words reminded him that he'd turned his shirt into a crop top, and he yanked it up and over his head angrily. He heard a small, sharp intake of breath from Rodney and froze like a deer in headlights, suddenly feeling more exposed than he ever had in his life. Which was stupid, because Rodney had seen him shirtless plenty of times. But not being able to see made everything feel different. He jerked himself back into action, hoping to get a shirt on before Rodney noticed him _blushing_ like a fucking teenager. He fumbled toward his closet, accidentally slamming his knuckles into the frame with a grunt, and ripped the first shirt his fingers found off a hangar and pulled it on. 

"It's backwards." Rodney still sounded weird, his words lacking any real bite. Without being able to see him, John had no idea how to take that. 

John let out a growl of frustration, but didn't fix his shirt. He crossed his arms. "Will you leave me alone now?" 

“It’s game night,” Rodney pointed out. “And I am _not_ letting you lord your previous chess win over me for another week!” 

John mentally kicked himself for forgetting. He always looked forward to game nights with Rodney. No matter what they were playing, there was something beautiful about watching Rodney think and plan without the threat of impending death hanging over their heads. It was damn impressive when he did it under fire, of course, but John loved being able to watch a gambit of expressions run across Rodney’s face until he made a decision. Truthfully, he took any chance he could get to stare at the other man without anyone else watching them. It was the one thing he let himself have when they were alone together. 

“Where’s my blindfold?” he asked, not sure where it had ended up.

“Seriously, is this a new kink or something?” Rodney sniped.

John snorted. “Why? Does that do it for you?” He waggled his eyebrows and wished he could watch the red flush creep up Rodney’s neck as he started babbling.

“What? No! Well, I mean, maybe, I don’t know. It’s not something I’ve really tried before- hey, stop trying to change the subject! Tell me what the hell is going on!” 

With his arms out, John warily felt his way toward the bed. 

“Oh for God’s sake, Sheppard,” Rodney groused, but took John by the arm and led him over to it. 

“Will you give me the blindfold now?” John asked as he sat down. Rodney scoffed and probably rolled his eyes, but the makeshift blindfold was dropped into John’s open hand. He took it and slid it over his eyes before leaning forward, resting his forearms on his knees. 

“Now spill,” Rodney demanded. 

John took a deep breath as he imagined Rodney standing there, arms crossed, a perfect scowl across his perfect face. He sighed.

“We were exploring the southwest tower and Zelenka and I were in a room that turned out to be a medical bay. There were these comfy, lazy boy looking chairs and I sat down in one, but my ATA gene must have activated the thing because it sprayed some weird gas in my face. Ronon and Teyla came over-” 

“You didn’t immediately get into the decontamination shower?” Rodney interrupted.

“I felt fine!” John protested, but he knew Rodney was right. He ignored it continued on, not interested in a lecture on lab safety. “I mean, I _was_ fine, until I looked Ronon in the eye and started spewing out some crap about how he’s my friend and I, you know,” he paused, certain he was blushing, “love him. And then it happened when I looked at Teyla, too.” 

“Let me guess,” Rodney said, and John could hear the fabric of Rodney's shirt rustle as he likely gestured in John's direction, “then you ran here to hide from everyone because you’re an emotionally stunted-” 

Eager to nip that train of thought in the bud, John jumped to his feet and reached out, flailing until he found Rodney’s arm, gripping it firmly. “I’m not a complete idiot, Rodney, I went to the infirmary! Carson ran a bunch of tests and it turns out there’s a part of my brain that’s a little overactive but other than that I’m perfectly fine. And since I’m not really interested in wandering around telling everybody how I feel about them, I put on a blindfold.” 

Rodney snorted. “That’s the most _you_ response possible.” 

“Well I _am_ me!” John retorted, not sure if he should be offended.

At some point, his hand had slid down the length of Rodney’s arm and come to rest wrapped around the other man’s wrist. John found he didn’t want to let go. Despite how unwilling he was to open his eyes, he didn’t like being forced into darkness. He was too accustomed to scanning rooms for potential threats and noting all the exits, and Rodney’s presence, though a little terrifying in John's current state, was still a welcome comfort.

“So what do we know?” Rodney asked.

“Zelenka told Carson the tablet had information on ‘Ascension’ and ‘Emotional Release’. Some kind of… unburdening your heart or some crap like that.”

“I don’t think it’s particularly fair that Ronon and Teyla got confessions of love but I don’t,” Rodney groused.

“You’re my best friend, of course I love you,” John said in an even tone. It was easier when he didn’t have to look Rodney in the eyes. And when he didn’t have to admit he was _in_ love with him.

There was a quiet moment, and John could feel the wheels in Rodney’s head turning. Not good. His heart began racing and he knew Rodney was about to start asking questions he didn’t want to answer. John tried to let go of Rodney’s wrist and pull away, but Rodney snagged his forearm and held fast. God, Rodney was so much stronger than he let on. And suddenly John realized they were really close to each other, close in a way they rarely ever were unless they were running for their lives or forced to share a bed. It made John’s heart ache in ways he was usually so good at ignoring. But Rodney was there, _right there_. And he held a blinded John Sheppard in his hands. 

He could feel Rodney's uneven breaths on his face, wondered what Rodney’s expression looked like in that moment, and he realized all he had to do to close the gap would be to lean just a little bit… 

The door chimed and it was like a cold splash of water to the face. As it whooshed open Rodney released him and the two men immediately separated. The bend of John’s knees hit the edge of the bed and he fell backward ungracefully, barely catching himself in a sitting position. John's breath was coming out a little ragged and he felt like his heart rate could power Atlantis all by itself. What was it about being blindfolded in Rodney's presence that made him nearly lose his goddamn mind?!

A low chuckle brought the sound of Ronon’s voice to John’s ears. “Well, that's one way to avoid it. Don’t think this means you get out of our run tomorrow. See you at 0600.” 

The door swished closed, and the two men stood there in silence, broken only by the sounds of their somewhat uneven breathing and the waves lapping against Atlantis outside the open balcony door.

"How does he expect me to run blindfolded?" John grumbled.

But Rodney wasn’t ready to let go of the situation. “If you can say that we’re friends and you love me that easily, I don't see why you won’t just take the damn blindfold off and say it to my face so we can be done with this.” 

John shook his head. “Not happening, pal.”

“And why not?” 

“Because I don’t want to.” 

“You already said it!” Rodney shouted.

“Well maybe I don’t want to say it again!” John snarled back, suddenly pissed off.

“And everyone around here thinks _I’m_ the emotionally stunted one,” Rodney spat. “You’re a taciturn jackass, you know that?” 

“For the love of Pete, Rodney, will you please just help me figure this out?” 

“Which part? The part where you can’t look at anyone or the part where you’re an ass? Because I’m not sure anyone in this galaxy is actually strong enough to get past your stupid emotional walls-”

“I do _not_ have ‘emotional walls’!”

“Oh, yes you do!" Rodney said, and John flinched as Rodney's finger poked him in the chest. "Big cinderblock ones filled with rebar and pieces of broken bricks.” 

John made an irritated sound and slapped Rodney's hand away. “Would _you_ like to share any of _your_ most private emotions?"

"Well, no, but-"

"Didn't think so," John snapped. Then he sighed. "If you’re not going to help me, then go away.” 

“Of course I’m going to help you, you idiot,” Rodney told him in a biting tone. “I just want to understand why you won't look at me.” 

“It’s _embarrassing_!” John protested. And would be a thousand times more embarrassing when he told Rodney he loved him and Rodney told him he was nuts.

“I once watched you _turn into a bug_ and _this_ is embarrassing?!” Rodney's voice was getting perilously high.

John decided the best course of action would be to ignore Rodney now, and started feeling his way toward the door. “I’m going to find Zelenka, see if the tablet provided any new information. I want to know how to make this stop.” 

“What did Carson say?” Rodney asked. John felt Rodney’s hand grip his shoulder and turn him slightly to steer him in the right direction.

“That I should just wait it out until my body processes it naturally.” 

“How long is that?” 

“At least ten days,” John sulked. “This is my nightmare. Ow!” John jolted as his shoulder hit the doorway. “Watch where you’re leading me!” 

“Sorry, sorry," Rodney muttered with his Canadian o's. 

They stepped out into the hallway and the door swished closed behind them. The silence only lasted for a moment before Rodney said, "I thought you said being stuck in my head was your nightmare.” 

Sheppard frowned. "What?” 

“You know,” Rodney said, and John imagined him waving his free hand around. “After Cadman was in my head, you told her she’d lived through your nightmare.” 

“Oh, right,” John said. It wasn't fair that Rodney managed to remember almost _everything._ “Well, it seems like the universe keeps finding new ways to torture me.” His arm was warm where Rodney was holding onto him, and the other man’s closeness as they walked like this was torture, too. He could even smell the faint traces of Rodney’s after shave.

“Better you than me.”

John purposely bumped into him. “Gee, thanks, Rodney.” 

Their trip to the lab was all for naught. Radek told them there wasn't anything new and that they should check back the next day, then shooed them out of his lab when Rodney started in on a rant about improving the efficiency of data conversion. 

“I’m starving,” Rodney announced as they headed for the transporter.

“Me too, but we’re taking dinner to go.” John replied. 

“My room?” Rodney suggested. "It's still game night."

"Nah, I’m tired,” John said. This had been a draining day, and he’d somehow ended up more bruised from bumping into walls all day than he was after some life or death missions, and he really wanted to eat dinner, shower, and pass out.

“But I still need to beat you,” Rodney said matter-of-factly.

“Why are you such a sore loser?"

"At least I'm not a sore winner!" 

"You are too!" John told him as stood up. “C’mon, let’s go.”

"Fine," Rodney muttered. 

John couldn't figure out why he sounded so put out. "You can beat me in chess next week," he offered.

"I most certainly will," Rodney replied.

John laid in bed that night, trying to figure out what the hell he was going to do about this. If Carson couldn't help and the tablet offered no new information, he'd have to hole up in his room for over a week or walk around blindfolded, and neither option was particularly appealing. He'd certainly have to give Lorne temporary command in case something happened while he was incapacitated. He fisted his sheets angrily. Of _course_ there wasn't an easy fix for this. John had the capacity for patience, but he hated feeling useless. And there was always the possibility that something would happen and he'd be forced to look at Rodney while they solved whatever problem the Pegasus Galaxy threw at them. But confessing his love under the threat of imminent death didn't sound too great either. He groaned. It was going to be a long ten days.

Ronon did, in fact, make John run the next morning. John took an old pair of sunglasses and colored both lenses with a black marker until he couldn’t see through them and wore them around in lieu of the makeshift blindfold. It took a little more effort to run when he could barely see his own feet, but when he and Ronon were in sync, Ronon provided verbal directions to help John around corners or curves. John learned the hard way that there were a lot of curving pathways in Atlantis. He nearly gave himself a bloody nose when he turned face first into a column, punching Ronon in the shoulder when he laughed.

Later that morning he sent a few emails announcing Lorne's temporary command of the city and cancelling the team’s off world missions until further notice, and then he locked himself in his office with his breakfast. He figured now was as good a time as any to get through the mildly appalling backlog of paperwork Lorne had been pestering him about for weeks; he no longer had an excuse to ignore it now that he was effectively benched. So, after digging into a muffin and a huge cup of coffee, John began to work his way through the pile and lost himself in requisition orders, mission reports, and new personnel files. 

John finally came up for air a few hours later, surprised when he realized it was almost one in the afternoon. He decided the rest of his duties could wait until after lunch. Stacking the last few problem papers in a pile, he stood and stretched, groaning when a few former injuries made their presence known. When the hell had he managed to get so old?

He snagged a bowl of not-quite-chili on his way back to his room, because he still wasn’t willing to risk eating in the mess. With his sunglasses/blindfold on, he carefully peered down at his feet under the rims of the glasses, hoping he’d be able to navigate his way there without spilling too much of the chili down the front of his shit or all over his shoes. 

He made it safely to his room and as he stepped up to the door, a new pair of shoes appeared in his limited vision. Rodney’s shoes.

“Hey, Rodney,” John said. He passed through the door after it swished open and heard Rodney follow him into the room. 

“Sheppard,” Rodney replied. “Other-bean-chili?” 

John nodded. “Yep. It was that or fake chicken nuggets.” 

“Ugh,” Rodney grunted. John could picture the frown on Rodney’s face; it was essentially the Pegasus version of tofu and tasted very little like chicken, and John had listened to several rants from Rodney about the consistency of meat vs “soy substitute blocks of mush”. 

John carefully made his way to the couch and sat down. “So,” he said, trying to act casual. Which was pretty hard when he couldn’t see and his whole body was tense, but he thought he was kinda getting the hang of this. “What’s up?” 

“I hacked your medical file,” Rodney told him bluntly. “And I watched security footage from the medical bay you had your accident in.” 

John’s heart started to run a marathon, but he carefully and deliberately placed his bowl on the side table. He leaned against the sofa and laid an arm over the back of it, drawing on years of practice to exude a calm he certainly didn’t feel. It felt like he was going to vibrate out of his skin, but John didn’t know what the hell to do except pretend like he wasn’t. 

"Well, that feels like a violation of my privacy," he replied. He wasn't terribly upset about it; he'd come to expect things like this from Rodney. John had figured out a long time ago that Rodney had read his military file, the real one without the blackouts and red tape. 

“I’ve been awake since last night, trying to figure out what the hell it is that you can’t bring yourself to say to me,” Rodney continued as he started pacing. "You had some very nice things to say about Ronon and Teyla." 

"Did you read my personnel file?" John asked.

Rodney blanched at the non sequitur. "Of course I read your file. I read everyone's files. Are you telling me you _didn't_ read everyone's files when we found out we were traveling to a new _galaxy_ together?" 

John folded his arms. "Did you read my _real_ file?"

Silence took over the room. 

"I'll take that as a yes," he said slowly, almost letting his voice drag into a drawl. "And since that's twice now that you've grossly violated my privacy, maybe you can let me have this _one thing_ for myself." His tone had become clipped and angry, and he suddenly realized how much tension he was leaking into the room. John hadn't understood until that moment how upset he was that Rodney felt justified in his prying because he felt he deserved to be fully informed. John took a breath and tried to calm down.

"I'm sorry," Rodney said. His words were a little stiff, and John could imagine the small, helpless shrug that accompanied them. "You're right. And I'm sorry." 

He was a little thrown off at the swiftness of Rodney's admission. He thought he'd have to fight him for an apology.

"Thanks," he replied, the fight gone from his voice. The exchange impressed upon him just how far they'd come in the last six years, and John felt a familiar surge of affection toward Rodney. 

"Hand me the blindfold," he said, pointing to where he'd left it at the foot of the bed. 

A few seconds later, it was dropped into his hand and he felt the couch beside him dip as Rodney sat down. He put the glasses down and slid the blindfold on; it was more comfortable. The sunglasses looked cooler, but they had started to leave indents on the bridge of his nose. 

"I really am sorry," Rodney told him again. "I just-"

John waved his hand. "Forget it," he said. Despite how often it happened, he didn't like fighting with Rodney, not when it wasn't fun. He searched for some kind of peace offering. "Let's play chess," he suggested. 

"I have to get back to the lab," Rodney told him.

Reaching beneath the side table, John felt around for the game box. "Did you eat lunch?" 

"I have MREs in my office." 

"I have MREs here." 

"Sheppard-" 

"I thought you needed to beat me, McKay," John interrupted, pulling the chess set into his lap. His discomfort from their earlier conversation washed away as the usual flow of their back and forth returned.

"And I will. Later." 

John moved off the couch and sat on the floor opposite Rodney, setting the chess board between them and starting to place his pieces, peeking under the bottom of the blindfold to see the board just beyond his nose. "Sounds like you're chicken shit to me," he said. 

He heard Rodney huff. "You're not going to bait me into a game with vulgarities." 

John shrugged, and started to put Rodney's pieces on the board too. "Suit yourself. It's harder when I play against myself anyways." 

Rodney slapped his hand away and John heard him sit down and start organizing his pieces. 

"It most certainly is _not_ ," Rodney snapped.

John smiled, and then started to strategize.

That night, Rodney scoured the most recent data from the tablet while John spun in lazy circles in a desk chair in Rodney's lab. But in the end, there wasn’t anything new or helpful. Apparently ‘wait it out’ was the Ancient’s solution, too. Bastards.

"What now?" John asked sourly.

There was a rustle of fabric that could have been Rodney shrugging. "I guess we wait." 

"Nine more days," he groaned. John flopped his head back against the headrest. 

"Actually, according to Beckett's most recent results, it will be more like fifteen," Rodney said. 

"Geez! Way to kick a guy when he's down, Rodney," John grumbled. He heard Rodney stand up and walk toward him. 

John heaved himself out of the chair, reaching out and trying to find Rodney’s arm to hold on to. But Rodney must have misread the gesture, because suddenly John found Rodney in his arms. Before he could stop himself, his own arms came up around Rodney, and then they were _hugging_. The embrace was warm and soothing, and John savored the moment, even knowing he was letting the hug go on for longer than he should. But he didn’t want to let go. Not being able to see was doing weird things to him.

Then he had the sudden, sharp realization that they were _in Rodney’s lab_ , and he pulled away gently, leaving the fingers of his right hand curled around Rodney's shoulder. God, he wanted nothing more than to rip the blindfold off and look at Rodney's face, to see his expression in this moment. He had no idea how to interpret what had just happened. He forced himself to let go of Rodney's arm.

“So, uh, dinner?” Rodney said, his voice a little funny. Or maybe John was just imagining things because he couldn’t see, and all his senses were out of whack. He felt Rodney’s hand settle on his shoulder and they left the lab, heading in the direction of the transporter. They were both silent as they walked, lost in thought in the wake of their unusual show of affection for each other. 

“You know, this would be easier if you’d just hold my hand instead,” Rodney said after they awkwardly bumped through the doorway of the transporter.

“What are we, five?” John grumbled. After their weird, admittedly very nice hug, he was _not_ going to let himself do something stupid like hold Rodney’s hand, a gesture that would only serve to remind him of what he didn’t have. It was so much harder to forget he was in love with Rodney when all he could think about was avoiding accidentally looking at Rodney and announcing it.

“It’s the simple matter of-” 

“I’m not gonna hold your hand!” John told him.

“It’s not going to make you any less of a man-” 

“That’s _not_ why I don’t want to do it-” 

“And it’s not going to make you gay-” 

“ _Jesus_ , Rodney!” 

“I think it would just be easier-” 

“Not everything is about optimum efficiency!” John snapped as the door slid open. “And I don’t appreciate you acting like me not wanting to hold your hand makes me a homophobe!” The argument stung in the wake of the nice moment they'd shared not long before, and John found himself sliding from happy to annoyed very quickly.

“I didn’t precisely call you one-” 

John stopped short and turned in Rodney’s direction, hissing, “Please, for the love of God, just shut up while we get food.” He was pretty certain they were close to the mess, and even after the usual dinner hour, the room was not likely to be empty.

Rodney harrumphed, but led John into the cafeteria quietly, though John was pretty sure Rodney had purposely tightened his grip to make it uncomfortable.

“You’re gonna squeeze my arm off,” John complained.

“Do you want the meatloaf and mashed potatoes or a turkey sandwich?” Rodney asked him in an irritated voice as he let go of John’s shoulder. 

“Sandwich,” John replied gruffly, and then he felt the to-go box pushed into his hands. But Rodney shoved it a little too hard, and it hit John in the gut. It didn't hurt, but it seriously annoyed him.

“I’m gonna kick the crap out of you next week if you don’t knock it off,” John warned.

“If you’re that mad at me, why don’t you ‘kick the crap out of me’ right now? Hmm?” Rodney said, and John felt the weight of Rodney’s hand as it once again pressed against his shoulder and led him back out of the mess, Rodney’s fingers digging into the meat of his arm. “Oh, that’s right,” Rodney growled, leaning in and speaking softly near John’s ear. “In order to do that, you’d have to look at me. And if you look at me, you’ll have to face how you really feel about me- love me, hate me, whatever that may be- and you’re too chicken shit to do it.” 

Rodney’s breath was hot on his neck and John was sure he was turning beet red as they walked. He knew Rodney was echoing the words he'd used to get Rodney to play chess on purpose, but he sure as hell wasn't going to let Rodney goad him into a full on argument in middle of the hallway. 

So John bit his tongue and waited until he heard the door swish shut in Rodney’s room, and then he grabbed Rodney’s arm and snarled, “I’m not afraid to face how I feel about you, I just don’t think _you_ want to _hear it!_ ” He felt the to-go box snatched from his hands and heard it hit the surface of a table along with Rodney’s.

“So it’s a bad thing, is that it?” Rodney's voice was tight and defensive.

John could have kicked himself. “No, Rodney-”

“I know I’m a pain in the ass sometimes,” Rodney admitted quickly, cutting him off. “I’m difficult to work with and I can be mean and selfish and spiteful. But I’ve grown more than I ever thought I could working with you over the last six years, and I really thought our friendship was important to you.” 

“Of course our friendship is important to me! Don’t be stupid,” John told him.

“Then spit it out!” Rodney demanded. “I can assure you, other people have said worse things behind my back _and_ directly to my face. I’m sure whatever it is, it can’t be _that_ bad." He paused, and then said a bit softly, "I thought I’d regained your trust. Is that it?”

“No!” John replied sharply. If anything, he trusted Rodney even more now than before Doranda.

“Then what?” Rodney asked. He sounded so lost, in a way he almost never was with his too smart brain that went ten thousand miles a second, and it punched John in the gut. 

“You’re my best friend,” John said, running a hand through his scruffy hair. He knew his face was red and his entire body felt poised to bolt out of the room, but he kept going, because even this painful exchange was better than the alternative. “And I’m... afraid that what I’ll say to you will jeopardize that. And I won’t lose your friendship to my own bullshit!” 

“So you’re saying this is about you, not me,” Rodney intoned flatly.

“Yes!” John nearly shouted. Maybe Rodney would let this go after all.

It was a long, painful moment of silence. John continued resisting the urge to run, his senses on high alert. He could hear Rodney’s quiet breathing, the low hum of Rodney's computers, the ocean slapping against the walls of Atlantis. 

Finally, Rodney quietly said, “You pretending this isn’t about me is what’s bullshit. And if you can’t be honest with me, then I don’t know what kind of friendship you think we have, Colonel.” 

John stifled a gasp. It was the first time John could remember Rodney calling him by his rank just to hurt him. And it did. 

John felt the to-go box being pressed back into his hands. “I’m sure you can find your way back to your room,” Rodney told him. He sounded angry, miserable, and defeated, and John despised himself for it. He felt his resolve start to crack.

“You’re never going to believe I don’t have anything bad to say about you unless I do this, huh?” John asked, his voice low.

Rodney didn’t reply, and for John that was confirmation enough. He took a long, deep breath in and out. Rodney could hold a grudge better than anyone John had ever met, to the point where it was impressive, and he _knew_ this would be simmering in the back of Rodney’s mind forever. This insidious idea that John secretly hated him, or resented him, didn’t trust him, or thought he was less than in some capacity. Sure, they could probably still have a good working relationship and some sort of friendship. But nothing would be the same again. 

John felt like he was standing in a helicopter with a parachute on his back for the first time, getting ready to make his maiden jump. This was an important moment. He dropped the to-go box on the floor and let his arms fall. 

“Fine,” he said, pulling the blindfold off. He kept his eyes closed. “But _I’m_ going to say it, not some stupid Ancient gas.” 

Despite his declaration, part of him desperately wanted to open his eyes; he yearned to watch Rodney’s face, to gauge his reactions. But more than that, John wanted these words to come from him, and him alone. He felt a strange calm come over him, the kind he felt right before he ran guns blazing into battle or flew a suicide mission. John opened his mouth. 

“Rodney, you _are_ a pain in the ass sometimes,” he said with a tilt of his head, and heard a small grunt from the other man in response. “But you’re also so smart it makes me dizzy, and you do incredibly brave things even when you’re scared shitless, and I admire the hell out of you for that. I like that you take my crap and throw it right back in my face, and it turns out I even like you when you’re bugging the bejesus out of me.” John heard Rodney huff, though he couldn't tell if it was a laugh or agitation. He was definitely fucking this up. John rubbed his hand over his face and sighed, stumbling forward. 

“What I’m trying to say is… After we’d been here a while and kinda got the hang of things, I really felt like Atlantis was my new home. It felt like, like I belonged here more than anywhere else in the universe. But when you had your Second Childhood, I realized I was wrong. Atlantis isn’t my new home. _You_ are. You, Rodney McKay, with your caffeine addiction and hypoglycemia, all your whining and bitching about prescription mattresses and citrus, your incredible, magnificent brain, your strength of character, your courage, and… Somewhere along the way, I fell in love with you.” 

He waited, for Rodney’s response, frozen except for the heave of his chest as he breathed a little too hard for someone who hadn’t actually exerted himself.

“Open your eyes, John,” Rodney said quietly. 

Somehow, he hadn't realized they were still closed.

John did as he was told, blinking a few times as his eyes adjusted to the light after a day in darkness. When their eyes met, no more words were forced from John. Apparently he’d said everything he needed to.

Rodney took a step forward, his eyes wide as a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “You’re a pain in the ass, too,” Rodney told him, and then he wrapped his hand around the nape of John’s neck and pulled him close, pressing their lips together.

John’s brain short circuited as Rodney kissed him, his heart soaring through clear blue skies. His hands floated up and came to rest gently on Rodney’s arms, but after a moment, Rodney pulled back and snapped his fingers a few times. 

“Get with the program, Sheppard,” Rodney demanded with a grin.

John’s eyes fixed on Rodney’s and he flashed Rodney a cheeky smile. “I like this program,” he declared. Then John surged, kissing Rodney like it was going out of style, backing the other man up against the couch. Without missing a beat, Rodney slid down and John straddled him, running his fingers through Rodney's short hair. They made out like teenagers, sloppy and frantic. Heat and electricity buzzed between them as they pressed against each other, and John smiled against Rodney's mouth as he realized Rodney truly wanted this as much as he did. 

He finally pulled back and let himself stare openly at Rodney, whose eyes were alight and his mouth a beautiful, freshly kissed red. John hadn’t realized just how much he’d missed this face. His fingers traced Rodney’s brow, down his cheek, and across his strong jaw. He bent down and pressed a soft kiss on the corner of Rodney’s mouth. 

“I, uh, I love you too, you know,” Rodney said softly. 

John pulled back enough to look at him. “Good,” he said with a happy grin on his face.

“Good,” Rodney echoed, his smile wide and bright.

And then they were kissing again, and it was so fucking good that, God help him, John just might have to thank the Ancients for trying to get him to ascend again.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic kicked my ass. I really enjoyed writing it, though. :)


End file.
